


Now the Sun's Gone to Hell (And the Moon's Riding High)

by BatsAreFluffy



Series: Like tears in the rain [30]
Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Justice League (2017)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, But its Bruce, Day 30 Whumptober, Gen, Hurt Bruce Wayne, Mentions of Cancer, Mentions of Death, Might want a Kleenex, he's always kinda had those, no actual death involved here, one line, respecting final wishes, slef sacrificing idiots, suicide tendencies, wound reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:06:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27293152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatsAreFluffy/pseuds/BatsAreFluffy
Summary: He’d plowed through the line of demons, boots knocking them farther away from the entrance. A few hand grenades had gotten the rest, and he’d run inside. Grenades and bullets, and laser weapons (must get one back to Alfred) and batarangs, and he was doing well.One of them was much faster than the rest.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne
Series: Like tears in the rain [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950151
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Now the Sun's Gone to Hell (And the Moon's Riding High)

They were a hour out from Steppenwolf when Barry piped up. “So, how does he get new soldiers? Cause, if they get caught, Bruce said they explode, which, rude. But I can’t really see him making interstellar posters saying, “We want you!” and then conquering planets.”

Diana was sharpening her sword, staring into space. “They devour innocents who then fight for Steppenwolf and Darkseid. The mere bite of a parademon converts anyone into a parademon within moments. That’s how they manage to overwhelm an entire planet, by recruiting on the battlefield.” She looked up at Barry, sorrow etched into her face. “No one ever comes back, Barry.”

“Don’t get bitten,” Arthur chimes in helpfully.

Bruce watched quietly as Barry nodded jerkily and sped off.

**

The grapple line hadn’t retracted fast enough.

He’d plowed through the line of demons, boots knocking them farther away from the entrance. A few hand grenades had gotten the rest, and he’d run inside. They had started shooting at him immediately, swarming him, attacking him and anything else that moved. Grenades and bullets, and laser weapons (must get one back to Alfred) and batarangs, and he was doing well.

He tripped over one prone one, caught another by the wing and hurled into the wall. They were so breakable, but numbers were their only advantage. They weren’t good soldiers; they were plentiful. And single minded.

One of them was much faster than the rest.

**

He’d plunged a needle full of his own concoction of numbing agents into his knee sometime before Superman’s arrival. He’d barely been able to feel anything afterwards, but he could run, and move without the limb collapsing, so it was a fair trade in his books. The suit had already automatically injected him with a low dose of Vicodine at the one hour mark. All in all, he felt fine. Drugged, but fine.

“I don’t ... not.”

_“I’m going to attribute that fine example of an Ivy League education to the painkillers, sir.”_

Bruce sniffed, and kept moving. Kept fighting. Kept trying to save the day from a huge tyrant that wanted to burn down the world.

**

The new world beneath them was blooming in every colour, and some even Bruce couldn’t quite see. Superman declared it to be a cacophony of sound in the new growth, visibly moved. Diana declared it a wonder to behold, and was pointing out specifics to Victor to observe. Barry had to be reminded not to touch everything, and Arthur looked impressed and bored.

Bruce felt ancient, and just wanted to rest.

**

Most of the League were gone. Arthur had jumped out to sea an hour ago, Victor had returned to Starr Labs to check on his father. Barry was eating somewhere, no doubt amazed at the amount of food Alfred was willing to make him on short notice.

Bruce stood in the armoury, taking off each vambrace with care. He’d done a quick check of his wounds while en route, and had seen it. Had seen the black lines tracing up the veins of his leg. _“No one ever comes back,”_ she’d said. No one lived through it.

He was quiet as he hung the armour, quiet as he sat down to remove every other piece of armour and weapon save for his right leg. He didn’t say anything – there wasn’t anything to say. He knew that coming back hadn’t really been an ideal option. This way, the world was safe. He’d helped that. He’d undone his mistake in killing Clark. He was done, and he would accept that.

“What under God’s Heaven is that on your leg, Bruce?” 

Alfred stood in the doorway, surgical tray in one hand, coffee in the other. It was a miracle of British training he didn’t drop either of them, or even spill a drop when he put them down. He didn’t deserve Alfred most days. The man was too good to have wasted a life raising a man child.

“Did one of those demons do this?” Alfred asked, voice quietly horrified. He knelt beside the leg, already pulling on gloves to examine it.

Bruce just nodded, and caught Alfred’s hand in his. “She said none ever came back,” he said matter of factly. “They always convert them. No survivors.”

Alfred sank back on his heels, face stunned. “To that thing’s service?”

Bruce nodded slowly. “I can feel the pull to return already. It’s a vague feeling, but, it’s there. I don’t think I have very long,” he added softly, voice cracking a little. “I’m sure she’ll be able to help subdue me when I’m not – me – anymore.”

Alfred sank farther on his heels, shoulders sagging. “Is this the one, Bruce?” he asked quietly. His old eyes scanned Bruce’s face, all the grey hairs, the scars, and the lines. “Is this where it ends?”

Bruce nodded. “I think so.” He tried to smile, came out with a twist of his lips. “Rather this way than in four years after everything else dies.” One hand absently rubbed at his chest, where the biopsy had been done not even a month before.

Soft, but deliberate footsteps were approaching, two sets. The leaders of this little band of misfits would do well together. They would unite, and stand together for this world. They would find others, and his wealth would quietly funnel into them to help with the battles to come.

Bruce dropped the leg of his pants down over the wounds, and picked up his coffee.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I ended this one on a really sad note.   
> It was deliberate.


End file.
